


Egg Biscuit

by 3tequilafloor



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, They're all dorks, Vomiting, i write stupid tags when i'm tired, noya's having a lousy day, sorry suga you might be contagious now, suga is a dork, yams is having the worst day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3tequilafloor/pseuds/3tequilafloor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Yamaguchi just wants to bring a sick Nishinoya his homework and leave. It doesn't work out that easily for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Egg Biscuit

**Author's Note:**

> *Kotatsu is a type of table with a heater built in and a duvet around it for cold weather. 
> 
> *chabudai is a low table where one would sit on pillows or kneeling stools instead of dining chairs. It's old, traditional style furniture.
> 
> *senpai in this context means an upperclassman at school. It's an important distinction at that age!

The sun has already set by the time they wrap practice up for the evening. Tadashi pulls his coat close around himself as he bids Tsukki goodbye for the night, though he only gets an eye roll in return. That’s fine, though, that’s just Tsukki. He probably doesn’t approve of running someone else’s errands for them, but Tadashi doesn’t mind it… much.

The fact that Suga-senpai will accompany him far enough to show him the way is balm enough to soothe any potential irritation over. He joins Tadashi a moment later, hopping off the last step and waving cheerfully at Daichi-senpai as they call out their good nights. Then he spins on his heel to face Tadashi with an easy smile, as he adjusts his scarf and shoulders his bag. “It’s this way, over the bridge. Not too far.”

The walk is nice. Over the river, then through a cobbled park path, which they kick crinkling leaves away from. It’s fairly well lit. They come out the other side into a cozy row of shops with residences above them. It’s a lively neighborhood, with a few bakeries, a few pubs, a tofu shop, a small grocer’s with a cat sleeping in the window, and a sweetly florid garden just next door to the building with the silk painter’s studio that Suga points out. “He lives at number 3245, the Western side.”

Tadashi gasps involuntarily, because the way Suga chooses to pronounce the number makes a rather dirty joke. He’s not quite used to Suga’s nature yet, especially the way it bounces so frequently from angelic to impish. “Thank you.” Tadashi mumbles after an awkward moment, though he doesn’t move to go inside. Suga laughs, but it’s not a mean-spirited laugh.

“Are you nervous?” He puts a hand on Tadashi’s shoulder firmly, and checks his phone for the time. Tadashi wants to deny it, but it must be written all over his face anyway, because Suga’s expression goes a little softer. “Well, then. It can’t be helped. I’ll come inside with you. Just let me call my mother first, ok?”

True to his word, Suga leads the way through the garden gate and up three flights of narrow, creaky, metal stairs. The door chime is lilting and musical when Suga rings it, much nicer than the sharp, efficient buzzer at Tadashi’s own home or the heavy knocker at Tsukki’s.

A petite woman answers the door on the second ring. She has the same slim face, chiseled jawline, and perky nose as Nishinoya-senpai*, so it must be the right place after all. Tadashi breathes out a sigh of relief as Suga introduces them and the woman shows them inside.

“Yuu!” She calls, loudly enough to make Tadashi flinch. When there’s no response, she frowns and gestures for them to follow her. “He really isn’t feeling well today. He’s probably still asleep in the play pen.”

Tadashi is sure he’s misunderstood her until they step through an open archway into an open floored tea room, and there is the exact sight he’d had trouble believing just a moment ago. Between the kotatsu* and the chabudai* tables Nishinoya-senpai really is sprawled out in a playpen, face pressed into the floor. He’s wearing a loose shirt and boxers, but no trousers.

Tadashi’s face goes a little pink, feeling as though he’s somehow intruding. It’s more than just the partial state of undress, though. There’s a stillness to Nishinoya that Tadashi has never seen before. He finds it hard to reconcile with the boy he knows from their shared sport club, where he always seems so fired up and energetic. To see him completely still, so still that there’s a half melted ice pack on his neck that hasn’t even fallen off, it feels surreal.

The baby doesn’t even look up at them, engrossed as she is in trying to cram an egg biscuit into Nishinoya’s belly button. The woman doesn’t seem concerned by any of it. “Here you are. I’ll put the tea on. Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable?”

 _I’m not comfortable_ , Tadashi thinks. _I’m very uncomfortable_. Suga doesn’t seem to feel the same way, and Tadashi has never been more grateful for his senpai than in that moment. He thanks the woman with an angelic smile and walks right over to give Nishinoya’s shoulder a shake. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Nishinoya makes a whining sound, which is strange for him as well. Even when he hurts himself, he’s more likely to hiss a little and bear it than to complain. Nishinoya bats weakly at Suga’s hand. “Mom?” He slurs tiredly, sounding unhappy about the disturbance. Suga laughs, and Nishinoya’s eyes finally open. Tadashi thinks it’s the first time he’s ever seen the boy look confused and alarmed.

He sits up suddenly, and Tadashi sees that he’s pale, with dark under eye rings and a fever glaze in his eyes. He really doesn’t look well. “Sorry for intruding!” Tadashi rushes out with an apology, feeling a twinge of sympathy as Nishinoya carefully sets the baby beside his knee so he can fold over and hold his stomach. The ice slides off with a wet thump as he glances up at them through sweat dampened fringe, which hangs limply in his face instead of standing up in its usual spikes.

“What…? Why are you two- where’s Ryuu? Ugh, I’m gonna kill him.” Nishinoya swallows a few times against the hoarseness of his voice. Suga innocently offers him a sippy cup that he’s found nearby, which Nishinoya irritably shoves away before he gets his bearings. “Sorry.” He grumbles afterward, rubbing his eyes. His voice is still raw, and Tadashi winces on his behalf. 

Suga doesn’t respond to the apology, as he’s decided to kneel beside the playpen and scrunch his nose up repeatedly at something. Tadashi wonders for a moment if it smells over there, until he hears the baby making gurgling sounds at Suga. Oh. It’s a baby game. Tadashi realizes that means it’s up to him to finish delivering the homework for Nishinoya so they can leave.

Reluctantly, he steps forward to help steady his teammate, who is climbing out of the play pen on shaking limbs. Nishinoya is usually athletic and fluid in his movements, so it catches Tadashi by surprise when he staggers and trips. Only a quick grab for his upper arm stops him from falling down.

He groans and steadies himself with one hand on the wall before he tries to move again. “Thanks. Stood up too fast.” He sighs and rubs at his face. “My room’s this way.” Suga makes no move to follow, busy as he is with a game of peek-a-boo, so Tadashi nods and follows. They start back the narrow, unadorned corridor, past the shower closet, drying room and the toilet, until there are only two rooms on opposite sides. Nishinoya opens the one on the right.

There are a few stray bits of clothing on the floor, but it’s tidier than Tadashi would have guessed. The window is wide open, even though it’s so cold outside. Nishinoya sighs in relief and stands in front of it for a moment while a strong breeze whips through and rustles the papers loosely fitted into a set of wall boxes. Under a display shelf containing trinkets (including a handful of trophies or ribbons,) a haphazard smattering of posters, a mesh netting containing various types of balls, and a wide frond ceiling fan there’s a simple futon that’s unmade, with a sleeping bag sprawled over it instead of proper bedding. An acrid scent lingers in the air, which must be why the window is open.

Nishinoya reaches into a simple, cloth-draped wardrobe and takes out a small stack of misfiled papers, handing them over carelessly. He swallows audibly a few times and curses under his breath, wiping a fresh sheen of sweat off his face with the back of one hand. Tadashi accepts the papers and moves to put them away, but then Nishinoya bolts away without a warning.

Tadashi sighs and steels himself, because he’s pretty sure he knows where he’ll find his senpai. Sure enough, when he closes the door and steps back out into the passage, he can see Nishinoya crouched over the toilet. It’s an old style, so he’s bowing deeply to it. Tadashi grimaces, but tiptoes to the doorway and squats there to make sure he’s alright.

Alright is probably not a word that could be used to describe the situation, though, now that he’s close enough to really get the picture. Nishinoya spits saliva into the basin and makes a pained, gurgling sound that’s followed up by a series of harsh sounding gags. It takes what feels like an uncomfortably long time before he belches sharply and something splatters into the bowl.

Tadashi has his eyes squeezed tightly closed in an attempt to block some of it out until he can get his own sympathetic revulsion under control, but he reaches a slightly trembling hand out to pat his suffering teammate on the back. That much comfort he feels like he can safely offer, even with his own insides squirming uncomfortably at the whole unpleasant process.

It’s not as easy as it sounds, when another round of painful sounding retching and another splatter of vomit follows. Then another, and another. Nishinoya chokes desperately for breath, while Tadashi’s stomach flips over furiously. There’s a second of silence, then Nishinoya spits and flushes. He coughs a few times and pokes his head into the corridor, though he doesn’t move to stand up just yet. “Sorry about that,” he croaks out and pulls a face.

Tadashi wants to tell him it’s fine, that he can’t help being sick, that’s what friends are for… anything. Anything except for what he finally does gasp out. “Move!” 

To his credit, Nishinoya’s reflexes are still pretty good even when he’s ill. He rolls aside just in time for Tadashi to take his place. He even gets back up to his knees and holds Tadashi’s hair away from his face. Tadashi gives a queasy hiccup and then all at once his gorge rushes up, spilling his stomach contents right there in an unfamiliar house, with his senpai watching. Tears of humiliation prick his eyes.

If Nishinoya minds, it doesn’t show. He rubs Tadashi’s back with the hand not holding his hair back. “Aw, man. You too? Ok -urk. Just get it up. Take it easy, you’re ok.” Then, loud and echoing in the narrow, tiled space, he calls for his mother. His voice is so hoarse Tadashi doesn’t know how anyone could understand it, but maybe Mrs. Nishinoya just responds to the shout in general. Whatever the reason, she does respond. So does Suga, with a baby gurgling happily on his hip while Tadashi gurgles pitifully into the toilet basin. 

As soon as Nishinoya’s mother shows up, he crawls over to the rubbish bin and begins retching again in earnest. Mrs. Nishinoya soothes Tadashi, while a grimacing Suga pats Noya’s back to help him burp up whatever is left to get out. Tadashi can’t even explain to them that he isn’t sick, it’s just sympathy pains, because he can’t stop hovering over the basin hiccuping sickly and even worse, crying about it. Of all the times in his life he’s wished the floor would open up and swallow him alive, this one might be the worst… 

Half an hour later, wearing a borrowed shirt that’s far too short and tight on him, - _Giant Squid Defense!_ , it proclaims mysteriously- Tadashi hands over Nishinoya’s homework to his mother apologetically and lets Suga lead him back down the stairs and into the street. “I need one of those.” Suga sighs happily, even with a steadying arm wrapped around a vomit-scented and miserable Tadashi, who can’t imagine why anyone would be in a good mood after that experience. 

“A stomach bug?” 

“A baby!” Suga corrects, laughing. “Did you see that face she kept making? They’re almost like people.”

Ignoring the faulty logic at work there seems like the best idea, so Tadashi does. He hiccups softly and shakes his head. “Nishinoya-senpai said the baby is the one who gave him the nasty flu.” He offers, hoping to deter Suga from any crazy ideas he might be getting. 

Suga gasps in dismay. “What? No! Ewwwww. I let her feed me a biscuit!”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Yamaguchi version for the request that went something like: **Yamaguchi or Asahi tries to comfort a sick friend/teammate but they’re too grossed out themselves.** This isn’t the original version, because I lost that to some Tumblr glitch.
> 
> It used to be Tanaka here but… well, we know that Tanaka doesn’t have a baby sibling and I wanted an excuse to write Suga playing with a baby and I’m shameless. (Not that we know Noya has one either, but we don’t know for sure he doesn’t! Like I said, shameless.)
> 
> The cramped space, older plumbing and more traditional furnishings just exist to illustrate that Nishinoya’s family isn’t really well off. That might not be true, but he certainly doesn’t act stuck up so I took the liberty. The silk painting shop is just my funny way to explain all of his custom shirts.
> 
> (The joke with the numbers is a pun sort of like "why was 6 afraid of 7? because 7-8-9." Only dirty. There are a few numbering systems in Japan because languages evolve in funny ways, and Suga chose to pronounce it similar to a phrase for "orgasm." Suga is kind of naughty, sorry.)


End file.
